You Can Never Escape
by 80sarcades
Summary: ...death and taxes. Even as a POW in Stalag 13.


**You Can Never Escape…**  
by 80sarcades

Just a short piece for Tax Day (April 15th)

Disclaimer: If I owned Hogan's Heroes, I'd be forking over money to the IRS right now.

-----------------------------HH----------------------------------

Like any other military service, the Luftwaffe had regulations.

While every rule had a reason, there were some regulations that just didn't make sense. This, Colonel Wilhelm Klink groused, was one of them.

He looked around the empty barracks and sighed, wondering why *he* had to perform the monthly inspection duty for all the buildings in the Prisoner of War camp. It couldn't be another officer, or even a sergeant. No, it had to be the camp Kommandant! As if he didn't have enough work to do!

Fortunately, the men that lived inside the various barracks were out on work parties or somewhere else in the camp. The quicker he got the inspection done without any interruptions, the better. Turning his nose up at the smell permeating the barracks -- _don't we provide them with showers?_ -- he quickly scanned the interior before walking to the room at the end of Barracks Two.

The door, of course, was closed; Klink hesitated before he opened it and flicked on the lights. Usually, he just stood at the doorway and looked inside; he was uncomfortable entering the small room that housed his senior POW. Was it because Colonel Hogan was an officer -- an enemy officer, to be sure, but an officer none the less -- or because he liked the man? The former was probably true; the latter…well, he couldn't admit it. There was a war on, after all.

Klink quickly scanned the dingy room, then nodded to himself. As he turned to leave, something on the wood desk caught his eye. He walked over to it and frowned; the piece of paper that lay there was covered with rows of numbers. _Some sort of code, perhaps?_

With a small twinge of guilt, Klink picked the paper up in his gloved hand and walked out of the room. The rest of the inspection could wait.

***

"You've done the right thing in calling me, Klink," Major Wolfgang Hochstetter growled as he examined the paper. "This is obviously a code of some sort."

"Of course it is, I recognized it instantly!" Klink gushed, pleased with himself. "Why…" He broke off as the other man put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes.

"Please, Klink," Hochstetter groused, shaking his head. "I'm already getting a headache by being here. Don't add to it." After a moment, he studied the paper again before he spoke. "Where is Colonel Hogan?"

"On a work detail supervising prisoners," Klink said. "If you like, I can call him back."

The Gestapo Major held up his hand. "No. Tell him nothing, Klink. That should be easy, even for you." For the first time a thin smile appeared on his face as the Luftwaffe Colonel's smile faded away. "I will take this to Gestapo Headquarters for analysis."

"Don't forget to mention my name, Major," Klink said; his voice grew even more excited . "Why, I can just see our names in the paper now! The men who cracked the Allied code--"

"Klink" Hochstetter interrupted, barely keeping his temper in check even as his teeth ground together. "The only time I will ever expect to see our names together is when I'm waving you off on a train to the Russian front."

For a moment, Klink wilted; unfortunately for the Gestapo man it didn't last. Not for the first time, Major Hochstetter wished he had a pair of man-sized gardening shears to get rid of the dead weeds in the Third Reich. Starting with Klink.

"But Major," Klink whined, waving his hand around like a child. "You could…"

Hochstetter lost it then. "BAH!" he roared, glaring daggers at the Kommandant before leaving the office.

***

Even after the SS Signals section failed to break the code, Major Hochstetter was not ready to admit defeat.

Although his superior officer, General Schmidt, thought the numbers were just that -- numbers -- he did allow Hochstetter to investigate the matter provided that he do it on his own time. So for the next week Hochstetter used his vacation time to travel as far as Berlin.

Swallowing his pride, he asked the other services -- Wehrmacht, Abwehr, and so on -- to look at the numbers and try to break the code. There was something there, he knew. There just had to be!

Unfortunately, every effort ended in failure.

***

"I want Colonel Hogan, Klink!" Hochstetter raged, waving the now-familiar code paper in front of the Kommandant's face. "And I want him now!"

"Now Major, be reasonable," Klink said; his thin voice was nervous. "General Burkhalter…"

"I don't care what he wants!" the Gestapo man yelled. "I want Hogan, or I swear that you will be on the next train to the Russian Front, Klink…"

Just then General Burkhalter -- the officer in charge of all the Stalag Luft camps -- walked though the door. The Luftwaffe officer glared at Hochstetter. "And why wouldn't you care what _I _want, Major?" he said, a bit icily. "_You_ might be the one to be on that train. I hear that the weather might get above freezing in a few months," he taunted, enjoying the look of panic of the Gestapo man's face.

"E-Excuse me, General," Hochstetter stammered. "I was trying to find out what Colonel Hogan knew about this code. Look at this!" He thrust the papers towards Burkhalter, who slowly took them and read the contents.

"And just where did you find these, Hochstetter?" Burkhalter demanded.

"I did, sir," Klink interjected nervously. "In Colonel Hogan's quarters." The Kommandant's voice then grew along with his smile. "And may I say, Herr General, that it wouldn't have been found if this wasn't the toughest escape proof camp in all of-- "

"KLINK!" Burkhalter bellowed; the Luftwaffe Colonel fell silent as Hochstetter rolled his eyes.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Three sets of eyes looked in that direction as Colonel Hogan entered. Despite the serious looks from the German officers, the American's smile never wavered as he grinned at General Burkhalter.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked innocently. Hochstetter was about to snarl at what he considered to be the most dangerous man in Germany when the General beat him to it.

"Yes, Hogan," Burkhalter said casually, then held up the paper in his hand. "You can explain what this is or you and Major Hochstetter will be spending some quality time together."

Hogan walked over to the desk and took the document. From the look on his face, it was evident that he knew what it was; strangely, he sighed in relief.

"So this is where it went to," Hogan exclaimed. "I looked all around the barracks for it. Just how did you get it anyway?" he demanded, looking at Klink.

"I found it on my barracks inspection tour," the Kommandant said, looking a bit smug. "There is nothing that you can get away with in this camp that I do not know about. Now tell me what it is, or I will have you thrown in the cooler!" he demanded.

"No, he'll be taken to Gestapo Headquarters and interrogated," Hochstetter interjected, an angry look on his face. "He won't be in your comfy little cell, Klink." He grinned evilly at Hogan; the American Colonel shrugged it off and looked at the Luftwaffe Colonel again.

"Sir, may I remind you that it is a violation of the Geneva Convention to go through an officer's personal belongings?" Hogan complained. "Besides, this is supposed to be a friendly war!"

"You won't have to worry about the Geneva Convention where you're going, Hogan!" the Gestapo Major said angrily. "Not after I've proved--"

"Enough of this!" Burkhalter interrupted, his tone angry. "Hogan, you have a choice: you can either explain what these numbers mean or else. What is your choice?" he thundered, the fat skin above his uniform collar turning red.

Colonel Hogan sighed, then deflated in defeat. "Alright, I might as well tell you," he said. "I was figuring out if my taxes were correct for this year."

All three German officers stared dumbly at him; it was Burkhalter that found his voice. "Taxes?" he said, in disbelief. He reached over and snatched the paper back from Hogan before looking at it again.

"Yeah, I know," the American continued. "With all the trust funds I've got, I have to make sure that Internal Revenue doesn't take too much. I just check up on the people that send my taxes in. Is there something wrong with that?" he asked.

"Well, no, but…" Burkhalter's eyes bulged as he saw the numbers again in a different light. No, that couldn't be correct….

"There are two numbers before the first comma, Hogan," Burkhalter said; his voice was barely above a shocked whisper even as Klink and Hochstetter tried to look at the paper. "You have that much…"

"What can I say?" Hogan shrugged. "Grandpa sold rifles to the Union Army during the Civil War and it snowballed from there. If you wouldn't mind keeping it a secret, sir, I'd appreciate it. You know, some people get really jealous with people that have lots of money, you know. I have enough problems with the taxman." He straightened up. "Is that all, sir?"

"Yes, yes. Of course," Burkhalter said dismissively, then handed the paper back to Hogan. The American Colonel then gave the German General a salute -- a real one, not the halfhearted one he usually gave Klink -- and then marched out of the room.

"Well, Hochstetter," Burkhalter said, returning to his normal self, "it seems that your business is completed here. I, unfortunately, have business with Klink; if you'll excuse us…"

"One day," Hochstetter said, almost snarling; the loss of his vacation time only increased his anger. "I will prove that man is Papa Bear and I will arrest him, General. You can count on that!"

"It will not be today, Major," Burkhalter snapped, his nostrils flaring. "Get out!"

Hochstetter ground his teeth for a moment as he looked at the General; with a loud "BAH!" he stormed out, leaving the two Luftwaffe officers alone.

"Now then, Klink," the General said, almost chucking, "we can get down to business!"

***

Back in his quarters, Colonel Hogan was encountering another type of enemy.

_They're taking _that _much?! _he thought in frustration, checking the numbers again. _And I thought the Germans were the bad guys! Where's a good loophole when you need one!_

_I wonder what the going rate for Congressmen is these days?_

[fin/ende]

A/N: As a side note, the Internal Revenue Service was known as the Bureau of Internal Revenue until 1952.


End file.
